Reminders of a Forgotten Past
by ChinaE
Summary: Prequel to "Written on the wind".


Title: Reminders of a Forgotten Past. Author: Erika Email: funhapjoy@yahoo.com Fandom: Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings. Rating: PG, hints of slash. Disclaimer: Don't own them. Beta: Jose and Sylvie  
  
Note: Prequel to "Written on the wind".  
  
Websites:   
  
~oo00oo~  
  
For the past few day and weeks, Malfoy has been haunted by the murmur of a soft voice that demands his attention.  
  
Nights spent awake upon his bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the voices that call to him.  
  
He turns to his side and covers his ears. The call that beckons him daily is gaining strength. He takes the pillow he has discarded earlier and holds it tightly. He wonders if he is losing his mind.  
  
Not longer willing to take this, he scrambles out of the bed, putting on his slippers and his long black robes. He walks out of the bedroom which he shares with the other Slytherin boys, down the staircase, to the common room, and out the door, running down the hallways as fast as his legs can carry him.  
  
He cares not whether he is discovered, whether anyone hears his footsteps as they echo down the empty corridors.  
  
Outside, he finds himself slowing down, no longer running now but walking toward the Forbidden Forest as if in a trance. Reaching the outer edges of the forest, Malfoy almost turns back to the safety of the school, but before he can change his mind, he steps forward, pulled by whatever forces that have enchanted him.  
  
The coolness of the night air surprisingly calms his spirit. He feels as if he has done this before -- experienced all of this. As if his body knows what it is like to hear the soothing sounds made by a forest as it breathes.  
  
He has no fear. The sound of the owls, of the creatures who live here, do not scare him.  
  
He ventures deeper into the forest, his fingertips reaching to touch a tree here and there, seeking contact with these living things. Brief touches that start to linger as he catches glimpses of the past. Each touch reinforces the images like that of a muggle child carving his initials in a tree in England to the last thoughts of a great oak as it is cut down in the Americas.  
  
They are all connected, these massive giants that spring up upon the Earth. They are part of a long root, like an endless web that circles the world.  
  
It has been their whispers that has kept Malfoy awake at night, but now it is their thoughts that keep him here, grounded at this very spot as he slowly begins to understand what is taking place. Why he has been called, and the reasons behind the urgent summons.  
  
Before he can make another move the visions change from everyday occurrences to that of great wizards involved in an eternal struggle. Of battles fought with a savagery that pains him, of robed figures riding black horses in search of a ring.  
  
Precious.  
  
The word resonates loudly in his mind. Word spoken by another.  
  
He feels faint and desperately fights the urge to vomit, overwhelmed by the images of death. There is so much blood, it surrounds him, and, for one brief moment, he wonders whether he has been dipped into a pool of it.  
  
An evil Darkness, greater than Voldermort, exists here, in this place he sees but has yet to visit. This place that feels so familiar.  
  
The rustling of the tree leaves above him thankfully brings him back to the present and away from the Darkness that was ready to engulf him. He falls to his knees, fighting for breath. He is safe here in this forest, away from the other world that has been shown to him.  
  
As he sits back down on his heels, running a hand through hair which is usually slicked back, he looks up to see a Centaur a few feet away, keeping watch.  
  
"What is this?" Malfoy asks, overwhelmed. Every sensation in his body is unbearably bright. It is too much. He hears the pounding of blood in his ears intensify, and then the noise pops and the murmuring tone he has been hearing for the past few days changes.  
  
He now understands the whispers, the gentle calling of the trees as they sing his name, "Draco."  
  
The Centaur standing over him lowers himself to his front legs as he helps Malfoy stand. "Do not be afraid. We mean you no harm."  
  
"Why am I here?" Malfoy asks once he regains his bearing.  
  
"We have need of you, young Draco."  
  
Malfoy almost gives in to the hysterical laughter building inside of him. "Why...I don't." he pauses as he rubs his temples. "Stop. It's too much."  
  
He sways. The trees are speaking to him all at once again.  
  
"Enough!" the Centaur shouts as his hoofs hit upon the ground, silencing the trees. "Forgive them, it has been so long since they have seen one of your kind."  
  
"One of my kind?" What does that mean? It isn't as if other students haven't ventured into the forest. It isn't like once, long ago, he hadn't served detention here with Potter.  
  
As though reading his thoughts, the Centaur explains, "In ancient times, during the period of Middle-Earth..."  
  
"Middle-Earth?" Malfoy interrupts.  
  
"When Humans, Elves, Dwarves and all kinds of creatures co-existed in this world..." the Centaur continues, ignoring the interruption, and Malfoy finds himself sitting comfortably back on the ground, listening to the tale spun by the creature beside him.  
  
And thus began his quest, his discovery of a forgotten past in his family's history. His ties to a people once thought dead, their strength buried within him. Their secrets hidden in a body of a pale slim boy. 


End file.
